


Boxes

by AnaliseGrey



Series: Where Light Fears to Tread [12]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Captivity, Claustrophobia, Coercion, Failed escape, Injury, Interrogation, M/M, Psychological Torture, Rescue, mild whump, short but...sweet?, stress position
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:46:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28058649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnaliseGrey/pseuds/AnaliseGrey
Summary: He knows he shouldn’t be surprised by now, but somehow people’s ability and ingenuity in hurting each other never quite fails to amaze him. If Caleb’s learned anything in his life, it’s that while necessity may be the mother of invention, cruelty is its muse.And what a muse it is.
Relationships: Mollymauk Tealeaf/Caleb Widogast
Series: Where Light Fears to Tread [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1441021
Comments: 22
Kudos: 120





	Boxes

He knows he shouldn’t be surprised by now, but somehow people’s ability and ingenuity in hurting each other never quite fails to amaze him. If Caleb’s learned anything in his life, it’s that while necessity may be the mother of invention, cruelty is its muse.

And what a muse it is.

He’s been here for going on twelve hours now, he thinks- caught the full twelve hours ago, beaten and interrogated for another hour or two, and here, in this box, the remainder of the time and counting. He has to give it to them, it’s something he hasn’t encountered before, and he imagines it’s very effective on a long-enough timeline.

He doesn’t know what the thing he’s locked into looks like, precisely, since they’d stuck what he thinks is a small burlap flour sack over his head early on, but he can come up with approximations based on observation. Whatever it is has two holes at the top, split through by the seam of the thing, which swings open like a trunk on its side and closes around his wrists, holding them in place above his head. For all he knows, it may just be latched shut, but it makes no real difference to him; he has no way to get it open. The thing is tall enough that it would be uncomfortable for him to sit with his ass on the floor, his wrists too high for ease. The space is wide enough to either side of him that there’s nothing for him to easily lean on without hurting his wrists, and close enough in the front and behind him that he’s not sure he could get out of the kneeling position they’d put him in, anyway. There’s air holes somewhere- there must be, or he’d have suffocated already- but he can only imagine that they’re relatively small, considering how warm it’s gotten, the air stuffy; it would probably be difficult to breathe even without the gag in his mouth. It’s pitch dark, the hood itself keeping any light at all from him. He’d tried to get the gag out of his mouth initially, but between the hood being in the way, his lack of available hands, and how tightly they’d tied the damned thing, it isn’t going anywhere. He’s thirsty, the fabric of the gag wicking any moisture from his mouth, leaving it desert dry, and it only makes the heat of the enclosed space more taxing.

At the moment, he has his head resting on one of his upraised arms. He’s due to switch soon; he's found that leaning on one for too long makes the edge of the wrist holes cut in uncomfortably. He’s trying to ignore how much pain he’s in, how thirsty he is, when he thinks he hears something. It sounds like shouting, and for a brief moment, he hopes that he’s getting rescued. That hope is crushed when there’s the slam of a door and the voices become clearer as they enter the room.

One voice, specifically.

It’s Molly, and Caleb’s heart drops into his gut like a stone.

He’s spitting mad, which Caleb finds encouraging, cursing and- from the sound of it- putting up a hell of a fight; Caleb’s hands curl to fists as Molly gets cut off mid-rant with a pained grunt. He strains to listen as hard as he can, trying to figure out what they’re doing, and after what sounds like a scuffle and another pained cry from Molly, there’s a noise that’s very reminiscent of when his own box shut around him, Molly’s yells growing quieter.

“You sit there and cool off for a day or two, see if you’re willing to talk to us when we come back.”

He can still hear Molly’s muffled shouts of indignation as booted footsteps move across the room, the door shutting, leaving the room quiet again except for Molly.

If he listens hard enough, he can make out some of the words, if barely. None of them seem directed at him, and it occurs to him that Molly might not have noticed that anyone else was in the room as he was dragged by, assuming Molly isn’t hooded the same way he is. Even if he had, he doesn’t know that Molly would be able to recognize him by his hands alone.

It only takes a few minutes for Molly’s voice to trail off to quieter mutterings he can’t decipher, followed by a sharp _thump_ from Molly’s direction that makes him startle. It sounds again a moment later, followed by some impressively-loud cursing, and Caleb can only guess that Molly’s trying to kick apart the box. He’d tried the same, but there just isn’t room to get enough force behind it to do anything; the boxes are too strongly built.

He’s once again going through any possible ways to get out, spurred on by knowing Molly’s here now, too, when he hears another noise from Molly’s direction.

There’s a few more sharp thumps, followed by Molly’s voice, but it doesn’t sound angry anymore.

It sounds scared.

The copper drops, and Caleb realizes that while he definitely finds this uncomfortable, it’s going to be much worse for Mollymauk, who has problems with dark, enclosed places.

 _Scheiße_.

He catches pieces of words as Molly’s voice gets louder again, in a panicked, pleading tone that makes his heart twist in his chest. There’s a fair bit of rattling and more thumping, and Caleb tries to call out to him, to at least let him know he’s not alone, but his throat is too dry, and between the gag and the boxes themselves, he can’t make himself heard.

 _Fuck_ their captors for knowing how to contain him. He could have had them out in a flash if he could only speak, but they’d made sure to wedge the gag as far back between his teeth as they could before tying it, tight enough that it feels like it’s cutting into the corners of his mouth.

He’d been content to wait before, either for rescue, or for the men holding him to come back. It’s perhaps a vain hope that they can escape, but having Molly here changes things. He has to keep trying; Caleb can’t leave Molly to this if it can possibly be helped, and certainly not for days, as was suggested.

Moving initially proves more difficult than expected.

He’s been kneeling for hours now on an unforgivingly-hard surface and his knees ache, and he’s reasonably certain he’s going to have bruises across his shins from the uneven seam where the two halves of the box come together beneath him. Parts of his legs and feet are largely numb, and it’s a force of will to get his body moving at all, to try to rise up on his knees.

He grits his teeth and pulls on his arms, using them to help get him up and he just stays there a moment, riding out the pins and needles in his legs and feet as blood circulates better. He already knows he can’t easily kick straight back, but a kick to the side might work. There’s more space in that direction, though he doesn’t know if it will be enough. He’s not overly athletic at the best of times, and this is definitely not the best of times.

After spending a few minutes flexing his legs and getting them moving again, he twists himself to the side, still on his knees. He’s more aligned with the longer side of the box, though it’s awkward with his wrists still held above his head. Now that he’s moving it’s a lot harder to ignore the injuries from the interrogation. He’s reasonably sure nothing’s broken, just badly bruised, but it still hurts, making it difficult to move. He shuffles forward so he’s more centered under his wrists, balances on one knee, and brings the other one forward, hissing as his ribs compress, and kicks back as hard as he can.

The impact with the side of the box rings up his leg, pulling a grunt of pain from him, but the side of the box goes nowhere. He takes a moment to let the flare of pain in his ribs calm before he resets, and tries again.

He manages a few tries, until on the last the combination of heat, the hood, and the gag combine to make him dizzy, and he loses his balance as he goes to kick. He tries to recover, but doesn’t quite manage, legs going out from under him, and he lets out a muffled scream as his body weight drops from his wrists for a moment. It’s the angle that does it, really. If he’d been in the orientation they put him in, he’d have been aligned better; as it is, he's twisted sideways, and he feels something in his left wrist give unpleasantly. 

It isn’t going to work, and now he has even less of a chance than before.

He gets his knees back under him quickly as he can, so he can turn to kneel back the way they had him before. His knees protest, but far less than his wrist does; just the weight of his arm is enough to have lances of pain shooting from his wrist to his elbow. He breathes through it as best he can, leaning his head on his good arm as dizziness washes over him again.

Time passes, as it does in situations like this, at a snail’s pace.

He’s both blessed and cursed by the fact that he knows how much time is passing. On the one hand, he isn’t getting muddled, losing track in in the dark in a way that can make the hours feel like days, stretching endlessly. On the other, it means he knows _exactly_ how long he’s been in this damned box, and how long Molly’s been in his.

How long since Molly’s gone quiet.

He listens closely, for any sound from the rest of the room, for any indication that Molly’s okay. Every once in a while there’s more rattling and thumps, and once or twice there’s yelling, but then it quiets again, and that’s almost worse. Molly isn’t meant to be quiet; he’s meant to be loud and boisterous, obnoxious, and his silence right now is chilling.

Caleb tries a few more times to call out, to try to get a response, but just ends up coughing, desperately wishing he had some water.

And the gag out of his mouth.

And the freedom to rescue Molly.

He might as well call Ruidis down to grant him the wishes; he’d have as much luck with that as anything else.

The hours creep by, and he occupies himself by going over his spell list, thinking of what he had prepared, wondering if there’s anything he’s missed, any possible thing that might help them escape, no matter how small, or how outlandish.

So far, he’s come up with nothing.

The guards return for him a few hours later, and at the sound of the door opening Molly’s yelling picks up again. There’s the sharp sound of a booted foot hitting the side of a box, and a guard telling Molly to shut up, but he doesn’t catch much more as the front of his own box opens and he topples forward into the hands of two waiting guards.

He can’t get his legs to work, knees screaming and lower legs numb again, and they end up dragging him from the room, Molly’s voice echoing behind him.

The relief of no longer having his swollen wrist trapped in the top of the box is short-lived as he’s shoved into a chair- presumably the one he was in before- and his arms pulled behind him to be lashed together at the wrists. He screams and struggles, unable to help it, but eventually they finish and let go, and he’s left sagging, panting and doing his damnedest to control himself.

They’re smart, annoyingly so, only asking yes or no questions so they don’t have to ungag him. He tunes them out, already knowing he isn’t going to answer anything they ask him. They start to hit him again when he doesn't do what they want, and he distracts himself by keeping track of the time, counting each minute, keeping track of how long Molly’s been in the room- in the box- thinking he’s alone.

Molly’s been in his box for seven hours, and Caleb in the chair for one when the rest of the Mighty Nein show up.

The fight is quick and decisive, which Caleb is thankful for. Someone touches his arm and he jumps, only to hear Beau a second before she pulls the bag off his head.

“Dude, you look like shit.”

He looks up at her, unimpressed.

“What? You do.”

She’s still talking as she tries to untie the gag, but it’s too tight, so she goes for his wrists instead; he’s glad of the gag as it helps him stifle a whine as she unties him, not knowing about his wrist. The clock in his head is still ticking on, and once his arms are free he doesn’t pause, moving to stand-

-then promptly falls to his knees.

Veth comes up beside him, using her dagger to just cut the gag off, and he rips it away, not caring as it pulls at his hair.

“Caleb, are you-”

“No, no time,” he rasps, trying to push himself back up, to move, and he curses his own weakness as his legs barely hold him.

Barely, but they _do_ hold him, and it’s enough for him to make for the door, stumbling along like a newborn colt as the others call for him, Jester telling him to wait so she can help him. He doesn’t wait, _can’t_ wait. It’s already been far too long.

He’d memorized the path from the interrogation room to the room with the boxes and back, and so he makes it in relatively quick time, leaning up against the walls for support when he needs to.

He gets there, stumbling in, and over at the far side of the room, on the other side of what must have been his own box, is the one with Molly inside, lax lavender hands sticking up out of the top.

Rushing over, Caleb drops to his knees just to the side, yanking out the small metal pin that was holding the latch shut and tossing is across the room. He pulls the hasp away, and makes sure he’s ready as he swings the front of the box open.

Molly’s slumped inside, blindfold tied around his eyes instead of a hood, likely in deference to his horns. 

“ _Schatz_? Mollymauk, can you hear me?”

Molly startles, arms falling loose now that they’re not being held up anymore. His head lifts, and Caleb’s heart aches to see the fabric over Molly’s eyes is damp. Molly makes a noise of frustration as he tries to reach forward for Caleb, even before dealing with the blindfold, but finds his arms don’t want to cooperate yet. Caleb grabs one of Molly’s hands in his good one and squeezes, using it to pull Molly closer. Molly mostly tumbles out of the box, landing on Caleb as he has the same issue Caleb did, his legs largely numb.

Jester makes it into the room, having followed Caleb, and she gasps as the scene sinks in.

“Oh my gosh-” She hurries forward, dropping down next to Caleb, who’s still trying to support Molly and pull him close with one arm.

“Molly? I’m going to try to get the blindfold off, can you tilt your head down?”

He does, and she’s able to get it off quickly, at which point she starts checking him over for injuries. Molly, for his part, just lets her, curling in against Caleb’s chest, almost entirely in his lap; he’s shaking, and all Caleb can do is try to hug him tighter.

There’s some bruising from his initial capture, along with more at his wrists and some abrasions from when he was struggling in a panic, but Jester heals them quickly, gently knocking her horns against his as she finishes. Caleb catches the weary smile Molly dredges up for her, and by now his arms are working enough to clumsily pat her arm.

When she asks if he needs anything he shakes his head.

“Just- give us a few minutes? Why don’t you go find the others, tell them we’re alright.”

She nods, giving his arm a squeeze, and heads back out of the room.

For the next few minutes, Caleb just holds Molly tight as he can, Molly’s head tucked under his chin as Molly trembles, his own arms wound tight around Caleb's middle.

It hurts, his ribs protesting, but Caleb knows they’re not broken, only bruised, and he’d sooner fight a troll on his own than make Molly let go.

He’s rubbing his hand up and down Molly’s arm, and when Molly starts to shift out of his lap, he lets go. Molly takes his hand, lacing their fingers together, and they sit there for a few moments, Molly looking down at where they connect.

“Mollymauk, are you alright?” Caleb asks quietly, giving Molly's hand a squeeze.

“Oh, yeah. Great.” Molly huffs a rueful laugh. “Never better.”

“Molly.”

Molly looks up at him and Caleb lets all the worry he’s been feeling for the last several hours show.

“I-” Molly sighs, rubbing his free hand over his face. “Okay, no, I’m not alright, but there’s not much to be done about it now. I’m out, I’m healed up, it’s over. It’s fine.”

“I could hear you,” Caleb says. “When they brought you in, and for a little while after.”

Molly’s brows wrinkle, looking around to take in the room, only now noticing that his wasn’t the only box.

“Wait, you were-”

Caleb nods, gesturing with his chin toward the box that had been his own small prison. “ _Ja_ , I was. I tried to call to you, but they’d gagged me to keep me from casting, so I don’t know that you heard me.”

Shaking his head, Molly brings Caleb’s hand up to kiss the knuckles. “I didn’t. I do appreciate you trying, though.” He pauses as he’s starting to lower their hands again, pulling Caleb's hand closer so he can see it better, eyes narrowing at the bruising that’s still there.

“Caleb, you’re hurt. Why didn’t you say something? Jester could have helped you.”

“It was not a priority, _schatz_ , you were.”

“Oh, don’t you ‘shats’ me. What else are you hiding, you sneaky bastard.” Molly goes to reach for Caleb’s other hand and Caleb snatches it back out of the way. 

“Please do not. I think that one might be broken.”

“ _Caleb_.”

He has the good grace to look mildly embarrassed. “There was nothing I could do about it before, and once I was loose, I came straight here. I couldn’t leave you in there any longer than you had been already.”

Molly stares at him, eyes taking in what Caleb can only assume is some spectacular bruising of his own, the way he’s still hunched slightly forward, guarding his ribs.

“I love you, but you’re an idiot sometimes.”

Caleb snorts, then winces as it pulls at his ribs.

“I love you, too, _liebling._ I am glad you’re okay.”

Molly sighs in exasperation, though his lips turn up in a smile as he carefully stands, reaching down to help Caleb up. Caleb happily accepts the help, still not very solid on his feet. Now that the adrenaline of rescue is fading, all the hurts he’s been valiantly ignoring since his capture are catching up with him. He gratefully leans into Molly’s side, exhausted, as Molly gets a shoulder under Caleb’s good arm, helping to steady him.

“Let’s go find Jester and get you seen to, yeah?”

Caleb takes as deep a breath as he can, and lets it out again, nodding tiredly, though smiling.

“ _Ja_ , sounds good.”

**Author's Note:**

> So, I occasionally roll for a character, to see how they'd do on something if I don't have a predetermined course of action for them yet. In this instance, I wasn't certain whether Caleb was going to do the rescuing, or the Mighty Nein was.
> 
> Caleb, with advantage (because he's trying to save Molly), trying to make a strength check to kick open the box: 4
> 
> Caleb, with disadvantage (due to injury), making a dex save to not lose his balance and injure himself further: 9
> 
> Poor bean had a bit of a rough day...


End file.
